Maimed
by Inane Insane
Summary: There was nothing he could do to stop the pain, nothing he could do to help anyone. All he could do was watch everything burn in hell’s flames before his very eyes..." WARNING! VERY BLOODY! BEWARE CONFUSION AND SYMBOLISM!


This is a bloody story, just to warn all of you! OK? OK. But... Warnings and Disclaimers first!

**_DISCLAIMER:_** The characters of Yu-Gi-Oh! do not belong to me! They belong to... What ever his name is. I forget it...

**_WARNING:_ **Character death, blood, angst, a lot of stuff that kids under 13 should not read!

Now, on with the story.

OooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooO

There was nothing he could do to stop the pain, nothing he could do to help anyone. All he could do was watch everything burn in hell's flames before his eyes and hear the people screaming for help that he couldn't provide and taste the blood that hung in the air with a putrid stench.

Another dangerous something whizzed past his ear and embedded itself in a young woman a few feet away, drawing her down into the dirt crying and pleading and praying to God to make this stop, make it all better. But, in the end, was there anything that could make this all stop and become better?

Between her pressed and sagging arms was a little baby, the gender unknown to him, because it was such a small and precious little thing. It was screaming so pitifully now, as it swallowed some of it's mother's blood, the crimson liquid covering it from this 'battlefield' of sorts, more then the woman that had just died with a last, shaking breathe.

He didn't know why he was just standing in the middle of this all, why he wasn't moving and trying to duck out of the bullets way. A guess that he had been hit in the arm somewhere along the line of his standing here, dazed and confused, because his arm was numb and he could practically feel something scratching up to his bone. Maybe he had also been aimed at a few more times, but, with someone's grace, it had all missed him.

Taking a few steps forward, then one step back so he could look at the crying child still held in the dead girl's arms. Maybe, he could do a good deed, and take the infant, protect it from everyone and everything until he, too, died?

Yes. He would do that.

It didn't even take him a minute to fling the limp arms away from the wailing baby and grab it quickly, still careful to the extent that he didn't shake it to kill it. His eyes sought out the face of the lady who he would now take this child from, and a discovery that this girl was only young, around his age. Why did this life have to be taken so soon, with a child in her arms? There was no answer he could give to this dead corpse, and he didn't want to answer, anyways, because there was nothing he could do anymore.

One arm wrapped around the child as he, out of reflex, patted his right pocket and stuck a finger in it, feeling the carvings along the large item in his pocket, leaving such a big bulge in the fabric that was easily seen.

Then he began to run, through the building that was trapping all of these people and making it a part of their eternal slumber. Maybe the murdered would not go to heaven, or to hell, or to anywhere, just sleep and have no dreams, an eternal blackness? He had always wondered that, eyes searching his mind for answers and possibilities.

But, right now, he didn't want to find out how death was.

He slowed down to a lazy jog, the scene before him practically empty except for a few bloody corpses that lay against the walls, the lockers, the floor, eyes closed and a frozen line etched into their faces.

He did not know any of these people, he thought with a slight bit of relief. Not a single one.

The baby was crying and he almost turned a corner before he noticed someone he did know, stuffed in a green, chipped locker, someone that was his friend and that was so pure and that was so nice and why did it have to be him!

He only knew it was him because of the grayish white flecks showing through the crimson on his hair, like snowflakes, and a glint of gold underneath the school uniform that decorated the boy, ripped and tattered and stained like it was only part of a horror movie, where someone or something was killing everyone and laughing at it. But wasn't there only supposed to be a few people killed, a few people slaughtered for the joy of an audience that didn't know what this was like!

But, no, this wasn't any movie and that was really his friend, and he was really holding a crying child, soaked in blood, and he would need to use the item in his pocket sooner or later.

Cast a glance at the snowy corpse before he turned the corner and ran, feet slipping among the blood of others because this hallway had so much more eyes open, so much more pleading, dead eyes with hands limp and hearts strewn across the floor.

Sunlight couldn't come through the window because it was stained with blood and cracked with so many attempts of escape, but there were so many corpses at the entrance that he didn't even try to climb them, didn't try to break the crooked light that lay across the bodies and granted a brief harbinger of what may or may not happen to him.

Now he was running up the stairs because he couldn't bring himself to wash out the crooked after images of that sight, all those sights that he had seen, and he had only been on the first floor of the school!

The second floor brought him to see a black-haired corpse laying on a pinball table, the red contrasting nicely with it because red and black contrasted so well and so sadly. A metal pole with some plastic men attached to it was driven through his chest. And He could only stare at the corpse as he realized it was another friend of his because there was a dice earring hanging from the right ear, the white now blending in with the red dots that were supposed to represent numbers. And he could only stare for so long before he turned his gaze ahead and ran, bringing himself to try and not look up or down at the corpses that hang from the fluorescent lights, or the ones that had nails driven into their hands, hanging from a message board, or a promotion board that said "Where is the Love?".

A slow stop outside of the science lab, because the poster that hid the classroom wasn't ripped, and there was hardly any blood on the wood (the blood that had gotten onto it belonged to the corpse hanging from the light above him, eyes wide and dead).

Maybe, he thought, just maybe there was this one room, which had no corpses or blood and it was all clean and tidy and neat, because, it was the haven from these bloody corpses. Maybe he could hide in here with the child on his arm for the time being, until the bullets and knives and nails and ropes passed him and left him alone.

He didn't hesitate, didn't once hesitate to grab the knob and turn it, like another corpse a few feet away, head twisted all the way back so it could only stare at the wall in a blank stare.

Another blank stare, cast by him as the door opened slowly, and he could see, little by little, that this room would not be a haven for him and the child.

All he could see was the corpses hanging from the bloody light, fan swirling around and around, since their hands were tied tightly to the wide panels. The fan was broken, lopsided and misplaced because of the weight, and it was amazing, because he could only see the wires a little bit and it was still working.

A scream of anguish echoed down the hall and he looked at the rest of the room, distracted only for a second so he could see the rest of this little room that belonged to hell.

The desks were piled up in a mountain, wood stained and metal adding to the assaulting aromas and tastes he had just noticed, felt everywhere he could. It would have been fine, the desks, if there wasn't so many bodies trapped in between, under, everywhere and on top. Their eyes were closed, there were cuts all over the pale and tan and dark skin, and mouths were open in an emotion he couldn't identify, but he guessed it was something close to pleading or fear or something bad.

That wasn't even the worse of it, because the walls were covered with dead corpses, hanging off the walls because there were pegs and nails driven into their stomachs and necks and hands, heads lolling to the side or forward or not at all, because some of them were decapitated, and he noticed one head, on the floor, in particular, because of that unforgettable spike, which was now matted down because their was some sticky substance in his hair.

Glass was everywhere and embedded into other bodies too, and there was sticky substances all over the floor, on people, and some of the people's skin looked like it had been gnawed at, gnawed at by acid or whatever, because this was the science lab, after all.

A horrid gaze was cast across the room because he didn't want to look at the decapitated head of his buddy. It brought his eyes to the board, where the teacher was hanging, the smooth, black chalkboard cracked due to the force that it had endured to get the nails in there. Beside the black-haired teacher was bloody words, and he could barely make them out, because he didn't want to look at it. But he did make them out, and he would have admired the quote, if he wasn't like he was.

**"WinGs aRE oNLY pretTy When MaIMeD."**

And then he grabbed the doorknob and slammed the door shut, blocking out the scene and granting him a right to throw up all over the floor, which was already smelly and gross anyways.

Eyes were closed tight as he vomited, threw up air and a bit of something he couldn't identify. He didn't want to know what it was, because their was something swimming in his head, a nagging feeling that told him to look down after he had done throwing up his food.

And he did, and he wished he had more food to throw up, because the babe's head was no longer there, it was just a bloody mass of teeth and guts and he could see one eye hanging out of it's socket. It was disgusting, so disgusting, even more disgusting then what had happened to his brown-haired friend.

He flung the small body away, limp and bloody and no longer crying, and he wondered how he hadn't noticed it before, hadn't noticed that the crying had stopped. He felt tears flood his own eyes, the tears flooding his mind, but he couldn't cry. Not yet. He had to see who else was dead.

Practically limping towards the next hall, he kept his eyes half0lidded, half close, in fear of seeing more bodies hanging off of the flickering lights, are the bodies to the right and left of him. He didn't want to see it anymore! Too much blood and guts and gore, he didn't want to see it! But it was difficult, because the blood had stained his shoelaces and the floor and the bottom of his pants, so he was being followed by the horror of a safe haven.

He rounded another corner, eyes still down, hands that had previously held the baby shoved deep into his pockets. Why was everyone dead? No one was alive anymore! He was all alone! His thoughts were whizzing about his head, and he couldn't catch them, because that would mean actually accepting the situation at hand. He didn't want too, he just didn't want too...

His head, slowly staining with blood, nudged something while he was deep into the black abyss that was his mind, and he didn't want to look up. No, it would probably be another girl -he could tell this because he could see a bare leg, due to one being gone, cut off, the ripped skirt, and the very bottom of the pink shirt, with a look of despair and horror on his face. But he had to look up, had to see who this was and why the murderer -he had accepted the fact that this was a mass murder- had killed them.

So, his eyes were cast onto the face of the girl, and he was frozen. Frozen in terror and fear and a sick kind of awe, because he saw limp, brown hair and closed eyes, a slightly tan face from dancing in front of a window at the dance studio on second. The sleeves of her shirt were cut off, the tie was gone and it was slightly unbuttoned to reveal a hint of cleavage. He knew exactly who this was, hanging from the lights by ropes tied to their hands, the leg cut off and cast to the side. Her neck was cut all around, like a red ribbon, and the clothes were stained with blood. Empty, he was empty now, because this sight of her in a cruel kind of dance was heartbreaking. And, for a minute, he thought in sick fascination, that She finally had a dance that would make people gasp.

He moved around the corpse silently, eyes not casting to the side to look at the girl hanging. Three of his friends, all gone, all dead, and he couldn't do anything about it. Not anymore, not anymore...

He just hoped his spiky-haired friend wasn't gone.

Faint music was coming from somewhere down the hall, he noticed, a slight comfort in a red abyss. His mind was soother, almost momentarily, but images, images, bloody images kept him from relaxing his muscles, slumping against a wall and thinking about things he didn't want too, but had too, did he have too?

He found himself at the door after he contemplating the things he did not want too, and his hand went to the doorknob automatically, made a fist around it, as if it were a safety blanket. But this wasn't one, no, because it would lead to a bloody little room with pretty corpses hanging off of the ceiling and heads rolling on the ground.

But his hand opened it while his body followed, and he found the source of the music to be playing from a lopsided stereo, speakers hanging from the chair where the main part was sat. It was on a lap of a boy with spiky, spiky hair that had more crimson then it usually did, and it answered his hope of someone being alright, and now that person wasn't. So, his mind went blank as he stared at his hardly scarred body, except for the sown words closing his mouth shut. He could barely make them out, but he did, and he gagged on the smell and taste of horror.

**"I find COMFORT..."**

And then under it, on his neck, his sliced up neck resembling another bloody ribbon, identical to the one of the girl who had been dancing to no music.

**"in THE things THAT kill!"**

Such a true statement concerning the monster that had befallen this school, this innocent little school with some secrets best left kept to the school itself. But he turned away so he didn't have to look anymore, and his mind was met with another sight, so sickening because he had the absolute idea that the guy hanging above, caught on the roof with a flute stuck in his throat, black hair droopy and innocent face marred with blood, and gray eyes wide open and having a staring contest with his best friend, that...

Well, actually, he had no ideas anymore, because everything was swirling around him and he could hear some words to the song (he thought briefly that it was someone's voice, but it was too beautiful, too mystic, in a different language), and he played it over and over in his head.

_"..domineo veniteo... sacramentum (discesm) eodeo..." _

Latin, he thought. A creepy song with Latin lyrics, because the voice was light and deep, sounding out the syllables and playing it perfectly to the music, to the nonexistent beat.

But he wanted to get out of here, because he couldn't help but stare at the bittersweet sight that brought him little joy. The little joy he did have was that his best friend wasn't hurt to bad, killed to roughly, and his friend that was younger then him had only a musical instrument stuck in his throat, and he thought of a cartoon where someone had gotten a flute stuck in their throat and they would pay music instead of words. But it didn't happen in real life, in real life it hurt people, and it killed them.

Eyes closed tightly, that's what he wished for right now, as he dragged himself out of the music room. So he didn't have to see anything, didn't have to see anything he didn't want too, because he would open his eyes if he wanted to see this bloody massacre. But he couldn't, because he was dragging himself around as he looked down towards the crimson red ground, and he wasn't thinking much anymore.

He was better off dead right now.

That was the only thought he had as despair took him over and his mind was foggy, but a sweet, sweet smile took over his face as he finally found someplace to go too, a somewhere that everyone went too sooner or later. He hoped he could go to that place with out stepping over bodies or blood or laughs and cries. He so dearly, dearly hoped so.

This time, when he grasped a handle, it wasn't round, just a straight, metal line across the plastic door, and he pushed. It was hard at first, because, as he suspected, there were bodies all over the place, all over the door, blocking the entrance to his destination. He didn't know where he found the strength to break all those bodies and break free to the gymnasium, though, but he made it, and that was all that mattered.

Bodies hanging from the hoops, from the ceiling with holes in it, from the bleachers, from the doors and banners with "Go TEAM!" and other happy slogans. But there was this one banner he found a little comfort in, right over the stage and it was declared in bright, crimson letters, not at all right with the school colors. He read this slowly though, because his mind was numb, his blood and heart were numb, his body was cold, so he had too.

**"I find it kind of funny, I FIND IT KIND OF SAD. But the dreams in which I'm dying, ARE THE BEST I'VE EVER HAD..."**

A million years ago, he would have disagreed, said that the best dreams were of eating, babes, and winning the 'Best Duelist in History' award (if there was such a thing). But, right now, the banner was right, screaming at him, taking away his morals and values and feelings.

Because, life was a 'dream', right? And only when the 'dream' was over, the real dream set in. And he named this dream death.

He made his way to center stage, feet dragging, feet red, feet moving on their own accord as he walked past the bodies and up the steps, feet barely making it up and down, up and down.

When he found himself there, eyes half-lidded in a kind of dead look, his face twisted in a scowl. Not because of the fact that the stage was occupied already, dry blood, dry, dark blood staining the thin carpet, but because of who was occupying the stage, taking away his final decision.

A long, long knife, more of a sword, was pierced through the card-look-alike pendent, the face of the boy inside disorientated and horribly twisted, the blood pooling around the edge where it had sunk into this man's chest. Brown hair was strewn across the floor, not covering his forehead and blue eyes, too show off an angry sign of hatred, a cross bent, which could mean Hitler's sign or 'caged bird', if he remembered. But he didn't want too.

The male's hand were trapped to the floor, by the wrist, by smaller, less sharp daggers, and his feet were tied together and pierced, also. A twisted stigmata, if he remembered, also. Christ had been hurt in all these places, except the chest and forehead. This 'stigmata' only appeared on the holiest of people, on people who were kind and good and true to heart. Someone like his best friend and not this stuck-up teen who hated him and who he hated back.

A harsh kick to the 'stigmatized' person pierced to the floor, and the corpse hardly moved, because it was pierced down so tightly.

But his mind, the little scrap of a thing, calmed down and he pulled the daggers and sword out after little thought. There was no more blood to pool around the body, and he kicked it off, it sounding with a loud 'thump' in this deep silence that surrounded him.

And now he was alone, on center stage, living with no one watching. He decided then, that, yes, this was the place, this was his second destination. This place with no one watching and no one there, souls trapped in bodies with no wisp of a scream. Tears sliding down glass, his future and past. But there was not going to be a future.

He lay down, vertical to the end of the stage where he had kicked that person off, and dug around in his pocket for his first destination in mind. And, ah! There it was, so pure and beautiful that he wished he didn't have to give it away.

And he did anyways, as he placed the shiny ticket over him and gave a ghost of a smile, one that didn't reach his heart. This would be better, because the dead were the lucky ones, right? He would finally be one of the lucky ones, like his friend called it, a 'lady luck favorite'.

So he brought the knife down upon his heart and coughed, a pathetic, shaking thing, because he wasn't dead yet. So he brought it up and over him again, down and under and he made it go down lower a bit this time, tearing the skin below his heart. And then again, because only his vision was black and he could feel the sticky, warm substance in his mouth as he coughed pathetic little coughs. And it was the third time he dropped the knife beside him, spreading eagle winged as the blood behind him pooled around his shoulders and a little on his lower back. Because, finally, the real dream would begin, he would be a lucky one, it would be all good.

All was gone as his mind closed, his heart closed, his whole being closed and his soul was trapped inside, with out a scream.

And that was that, a bloody school filled with death on the opening horizon, as sounds broke the air. And all that was left was nothing...

OooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooO

"Last night, a tragedy occurred in Domino City, Japan, from 5:00 pm to around 12:00 am.

There were no screams heard, say nearby shop keepers and home owners, coming from Domino high, where over one hundred students and facility members were murdered.

All causes of death are quite peculiar, said Forensic science specialist, Murdock Hunsona.

"There were various weapons used, from nails, clubs, musical instruments, guns, hammers, and so on. Some of the murder weapons are not even considered dangerous. Some of the dead, also, have been found not to be touched at all, but have been murdered of course.

This case is very strange, for the fact that we have only found one person who has murdered all students attending Domino high."

The murderer, identified to be Katsuya Jounouchi, age 17, was found dead in the gymnasium, a large dagger beside him. Hunsona has identified the cause of death to be suicide, and has come up with an analysis for the young boy.

"Mr.Jounouchi comes from a poor family, and has had previous charges on accounts of weaponry use, underage drinking, stealing, exposing a minor to dangerous substances, and so on. He was seemed clean of all bad influences after returning from Duelist Kingdom, held by one Maximillian Pegasus, and was seemed to be doing fine.

The events that occurred afterwards, his sister getting her eyesight restored, Battle city, and the period of time where Duel Monsters were presumed real, might have been the setting off point for the young man.

Jounichi, a student with low grades, may have picked Domino high for that simple reason.

He has been thought to have multiple personality disorder, and this is the main suspicion being held."

H

head of the investigation, Police man Sonyita Cambarle, has this too say.

"It will take days to clean up this mess. What catches me, though, is how one student can kill so many, in so little time, and how he came up with the idea!"

Ones found dead include such people as Seto Kaiba, owner of Kaiba corporation and his younger brother, Mokuba Kaiba. Also dead was Yugi Mouto, Named best duelist and Jounouchi's best friend , and Otogi Ryuuji, owner of Emerald Games.

The Elder Jounichi, who has no occupation, has this to say about his son.

"I don't understand what happened to the boy. One day he was fine, and then this happens! A God damn tragedy, I tell ya."

That was all he had to say on the matter.

This tragedy will go down in history for many, recorded as the 'Domino massacre'. We will grieve the 166 deaths of all students and faculty members.

The memorial will be held this Friday, at 12:00 pm.

Now, back to you, Makarya..."

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I know this story is very confusing, and most of you probably don't get it, but I will only explain ONE thing to you!

The reason Jou killed all of those people is because he didn't really know he was doing it.

The events that led up to before and after the doom arc, and all of the Egyptian stuff and things about magic and darker halves are bound to get a person stressed and confused, right?

Jou's mind broke one day and it warped to a personality disorder, called Multiple Personality Disorder. Resulting in the thought that he did have a Yami, and this Yami was very bloody and sadistic. And the reason that woman and baby died right when he was watching them is because he didn't think or see himself raising or holding a gun to them.

I know that's a shitty little explanation, but whatever. This story is chalk full of symbolism, so... Yes. E-mail me if you have any questions, and I will do the best I can to answer them, alright?

And I don't know if Otogi's company is called "Emerald Games", are if... A few other things. But yeah.

Until another story!


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